


Scarlet Hood, Heart of Gold

by Furuba_Fangirl



Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), DTIYS, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, M/M, Magic, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Red Riding Hood Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, Werewolf Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furuba_Fangirl/pseuds/Furuba_Fangirl
Summary: In the Kingdom of Eden, Aziraphale is the royal delivery boy whose generosity exceeds that of the people he works for. So, when fate puts him in the same path of a werewolf in need of protection, he takes it upon himself to help him but he becomes far more invested than he originally intended.My contribution to gingerhaole’s Keep Your Enemies Closer DTIYS
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Nice and Accurate Fanfic Gallery [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997725
Comments: 37
Kudos: 180
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	Scarlet Hood, Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingerhaole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerhaole/gifts).



> Ahem, so as my favorite angel would say... I got carried away but I have no regrets! Gingerhaole's art will be the death of me one day 😆

Aziraphale pulls up the hood of his red cloak with a shiver, shielding his head from the drizzle that had begun to pour from the clouds scattered throughout the night sky. The waning moon the only light left to guide him as the moistening gravel crunches beneath his tan leather boots. He hadn’t intended on being out so late but alas he had lost track of time. Captain Gabriel had tasked him with delivering a bushel of Eden’s finest golden apples to Lord Beelzebub; an offer to sweeten up their upcoming trading agreement. However, before arriving at their estate, Aziraphale had made a stop at the village so he could give the local children a few of the extras he had picked. Not only because they are a tasty treat but because their seeds can grow in even the most barren earth and the harshest weather. The delivery boy wasn’t supposed to give away food from the palace but Aziraphale never understood the point of having such luxuries if they weren’t allowed to share them with the citizens of the kingdom. Despite the risk of being punished, he is willing to take it so that his fellow people never have to suffer.

Aside from the patter of rain and the occasional hoot of an owl, it is a relatively quiet night. Yet, the calm is shattered by a pained howl deep in the forest. Aziraphale clutches onto the handle of his basket in fear, waiting for the noise to continue but it is simply followed by an eerie silence. He takes a deep breath and tells himself, “Buck up, Aziraphale. It must’ve been a lone wolf that got spooked by something…” _Although, what could spook a wolf?_

He shakes away the thought, although he finds himself walking down the dirt path at a hastier pace. Before he can recover his peace of mind, he hears branches and twigs snapping nearby. Aziraphale, now on full alert, shakily reaches for the dagger holstered to his belt, hand resting on the hilt as he surveys the treeline. Gabriel gave it to him to protect himself from potential muggers but he never thought he could bring himself to actually use it. So, when the cracking sounds come too close for comfort, the delivery boy chooses to run rather than fight.

However, he doesn’t make it far down the road before he feels himself being blindsided and tumbling onto the ground. His eyes flicker in a daze, the back of his head throbbing as he tries to get his bearings. Once his vision adjusts, a black snout, razor-sharp teeth, and dead yellow eyes stare back at him. Aziraphale is about to scream, believing he is about to be eaten alive, but a hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“Don’t scream,” a gruff voice says. “They’ll find me if you do.”

Fiery locks tickle his face as the person hovering above him tilts their head up and Aziraphale realizes that what he has been staring at is a wolf headdress; its owner a man… or at least he thinks he is. He has pointed teeth and golden eyes as well but unlike the lifeless pelt resting on his head, his face is full of terror.

The stranger uncovers his mouth and starts to climb off the stunned delivery boy. As he stands up on his bare, hairy feet, he offers Aziraphale a clawed hand to help him up but before he can take it, someone shouts, “Over here, Uriel!”

They both turn their heads to see a balding man brandishing a sword further up the path and the stranger growls at him.

“Sandalphon?” Aziraphale questions and the stranger’s eyebrows furrow as he realizes that he knows the soldier.

Soon, another person in a similar white and gold uniform appears from the forest but she’s holding a crossbow. “You can’t run forever, werewolf,” Uriel yells.

He casts a glance at Aziraphale still sitting on the floor, an idea forming in his head. “Sorry about this, Little Red.” The werewolf yanks him up, pinning Aziraphale’s back to his chest, restraining his arms at his front, and wrapping his free hand around his neck. “Come any closer and I’ll rip his throat out,” he threatens darkly, causing the soldiers to halt in place. “I suggest you turn around and leave _now_.”

Aziraphale whimpers at his sudden shift in character, trying to wriggle away from him to no avail.

Despite their initial hesitation, Sandalphon bluntly says, “Do it. Then we’ll have a better excuse to kill you.”

The delivery boy’s eyes widen in horror but the werewolf calls his bluff. He clicks his tongue at him in disapproval. “Oh, I’m sure the Almighty Queen will be very upset when she finds out her guards failed to save one of their own from the big bad wolf.”

“He’s nothing to us,” Sandalphon assures with a scoff.

The werewolf leers at them. “Really?” He runs a fingernail over the gold embroidery along the hem of Aziraphale’s sleeve. “If I’m not mistaken, this is a royalty issued uniform.”

The soldier’s smugness falters a bit and he looks to Uriel for help.

“He’s a delivery boy. He’ll hardly be missed,” she says, trying to keep the ruse afloat yet both Sandalphon and her know that’s not the case at all. The Queen had a soft spot for Aziraphale and she would rain Hellfire on whoever let anything happen to him.

The werewolf shrugs, nails prodding into pale flesh. “Well, let’s find out shall we.”

“Please,” Aziraphale begs, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. Although, he’s not sure if he’s pleading for Uriel or Sandalphon to help or for the stranger not to hurt him.

In the end, Uriel is the one to relent by asking, “How do we know you won’t kill him once we leave?”

“You won’t but if you don’t... you know I will.” He can feel his hostage swallow under his grip.

The soldiers look at each other precariously before lowering their weapons. “Fine,” Sandalphon grits. “But mark my words, beast. Come morning, every soldier in Eden will be hunting you down like the animal you are.”

“Looking forward to it,” he retorts, seemingly unfazed.

They glare at him as they slowly back away until they’re far enough away to sprint back to the palace.

The werewolf waits a few minutes to make sure they’re really gone while Aziraphale silently weeps. Finally, he lets out a shaky breath. “M’ sorry,” he grumbles. “For all of this… I was afraid.”

Aziraphale detects the guilt in his voice and his trembling stops momentarily.

“M’ gonna let you go now,” he promises, releasing his grip on his throat first. As soon as he lets go of his arms, the delivery boy scrambles away from him as if he’s afraid he’ll change his mind.

Instead of running away though, Aziraphale whips around to face him properly and through watery eyes, he sees the werewolf’s genuine remorse... “Thank you,” he sniffs, wiping away salty tracks.

He hugs a bicep as he stares at the ground in shame. “You shouldn’t thank me. I shouldn’t have used you as a bargaining chip—” He winces, clutching at his arm in pain. When he withdraws his hand from underneath his cloak, it is smeared with crimson.

“You’re hurt,” Aziraphale says in concern, realizing it was in fact him that had howled.

“Yeah, courtesy of your friends,” he chuckles dryly. “The arrow barely grazed me so I’ll be fine— _Ngh!_ ”

The delivery boy shifts nervously on his feet. “May I take a look?” he asks cautiously. The werewolf eyes him wearily but curtly nods his head. Aziraphale approaches slowly before he pushes back the tattered robe to find a gash peeking through his torn sleeve. The wound itself isn’t deep but there are little tendrils of black radiating from it. “As I suspected… you were struck by a silver-tipped arrow.” The finest in the kingdom to make matters worse.

The werewolf examines it himself and huffs, “Shit.”

“This needs to be tended to posthaste but first,” he looks around to make sure nobody is around, “we need to get you off the road and somewhere safe.”

The stranger lifts a suspicious eyebrow. “Why… would you help me?”

Aziraphale’s hands fidget. “Because it would be awfully cruel to abandon someone in need.”

The doubt on his face subsides and he accepts his earnest response. “Okay… I have a place to hide but it’s a walk away.”

He crouches down to pick up his wicker basket that had rolled away during their scuffle. “Then we best get a wiggle on.”

—

By the time they reach the hideout, it has already stopped raining. Regardless of how dilapidated the cottage appears, Aziraphale is relieved for some reprise since his companion’s breathing had become more haggard the further they tread. As they climb the mildew-riddled stoop, the werewolf staggers a bit and Aziraphale manages to catch him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Thanks, Little Red,” he pants as he supports himself.

“It’s, um, Aziraphale.”

“Crowley…”

“Alright, Crowley… let’s get you indoors.” The delivery boy pushes the creaky door barely holding on by a rusty hinge. Inside, he hears the droplets of water leaking through the roof and he smells mold thick in the air.

Crowley carefully pulls away from Aziraphale, making his way to the oil lamp resting on a small table. Once the dim light flickers on, blue eyes scan the shack and, as expected, the interior is just as decrepit. The only decor being the deep scratches covering the lumber and a heap of straw and fabric in the corner that he supposes constitutes a bed.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Crowley says sardonically.

“It’s… nice,” he fibs.

The werewolf snorts, “For a shithole, I guess.” He pulls up the single chair in the building and sprawls on it with a tired groan.

Aziraphale approaches him, setting his basket aside on the table. “Um, this might sound forward but can you remove your shirt? I’d like a better look at your injury.”

“Uh, sure…” Crowley unties the neck strap of his headdress before lazily tossing it on the floor. He then unclips the safety pin holding his charcoal cloak and it slinks off his shoulders. However, as he goes to lift his loose-fitting shirt, the werewolf hisses in pain. “ _Fuck_.”

“Here, let me,” Aziraphale offers. His hands gingerly pull the hem of the garment, fingertips grazing the coarse hair on Crowley’s torso which causes him to shudder. “Something wrong?”

The werewolf turns his head so Aziraphale doesn’t see the blush on his cheeks. “No… ticklish is all.” Which isn’t a lie considering this had been the most human contact he had in over two decades.

The delivery boy hums in comprehension, mindful not to do it again, a bit to the werewolf’s silent disappointment. He pulls Crowley’s good arm out of the first sleeve and carefully tugs the rest off without jostling his injured one too much. Now that he has a better view, Aziraphale gasps, “Oh dear…”

“Come on, I can’t be that bad looking,” he jokes, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“It’s not that dear…” _Quite the contrary really_ , he thinks eyes briefly skimming his lean form. “I’m referring to your injury. It’s gotten worse…” The dark webbing now reaching his shoulder and elbow. Aziraphale quickly reaches for his basket, lifting the lid so he can rummage through it even if it is seemingly empty.

“What are you doing?”

Suddenly, Aziraphale becomes impatient and tips the whole basket over, bits and bobbles falling out of a glowing portal. As he picks out a roll of gauze and a gold tin, he notices the werewolf’s confused expression. “My friend, Anathema, charmed it for me to help with my travels. Very useful but it can be hard to keep inventory of everything inside,” he explains, returning the unnecessary items to whence they came. Aziraphale pops open the container to reveal a green slimy paste and scoops a dollop with two fingers. “This will probably sting,” he warns before attempting to smear it on.

“Just do it.” When Aziraphale does put the poultice on, Crowley holds back the rumble growing in the back of his throat. He watches on as the delivery boy then wraps gauze around his arm with such care he _almost_ forgets about the pain.

“I’m afraid this is just a temporary remedy, dear boy. It might slow the spread of the poisoning but I’m going to have to find a more potent antidote… at the castle,” he divulges wearily, worried at what his reaction is going to be.

However, the only readable emotion is defeat. His head slumps to the side as he sighs, “I appreciate your help, Aziraphale, but I’m as good as dead anyway… Even if you can make it back in time, you heard it yourself that the royal guards will be crawling everywhere.”

“But surely there’s something I can do…” He trails off as his eyes land on the wolf head strewn on the floor. “What if there was nothing for them to look for anymore? Or, at least ,” he lifts the edge of his cloak to reveal his dagger, “that’s what we’ll have them believe…”

—

With burning lungs and blistered feet, Aziraphale can finally see the castle against the pinking horizon. He knows that the soldiers are probably already prepped to head out at first light so, with the last of his strength, he sprints toward the drawbridge. Luckily, he sees a familiar face manning the gatehouse. “Sergeant Shadwell,” Aziraphale calls out, frantically waving his arm to get his attention.

The gatekeeper brings up his binoculars, not really believing what he’s seeing. “Aziraphale, ‘s that really you? Thought the wolf would be pickin’ ye from his teeth right now.”

“Yes, Sergeant, it’s me! Please tell Captain Gabriel, there’s nothing to worry about anymore!” Aziraphale holds up his dagger, now stained with blood. “I have slain the foul creature myself!”

“Well, I’ll be damned. The southern pansy has some fight in him,” he chuckles to himself. Sergeant Shadwell looks over to the young soldier dozing off against the wall. “Oy, Private Newt,” he shouts, which jolts him awake. “Go get the captain. He’ll want to see this for himself.”

—

As the steel gate lifts, Gabriel and Michael are met with the sight of their royal delivery boy, a person that prides himself on a pristine wardrobe, completely disheveled. His white tunic and trousers are slashed and stained with dirt and dried blood and his cheek has a set of angry scratches across it.

“Aziraphale, what happened?” the captain asks as they walk up to him.

“Well, uh, the thing is before the beast could drag me into his lair, I was able to get the upper hand and I plunged my blade into his wretched heart,” he retells in the same way he rehearsed. “Of course, I can’t take all the credit. He was weakened from Uriel’s arrow but he still put up a struggle as you can see. I was lucky to escape with my life…”

“I don’t believe it,” Gabriel says and Aziraphale gulps nervously. However, before he can worry too much, a huge grin spreads across the captain’s face. “Who knew you could be a lean-mean-fighting-machine,” he compliments, lightly jabbing his stomach. “We have ourselves a real warrior, huh, Michael.”

“It appears so,” she agrees, her face as stoic as ever.

The delivery boy laughs uncomfortably. “Thank you, Sir, but I was only trying to defend myself.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short! You did a real service to your kingdom.”

“Yes, your bravery is greatly appreciated. Although for the record, we would like to know where you left the body,” she presses.

As the Queen’s advisor, Aziraphale figured Michael would want all the details about the ordeal but he still stammers, “Y-yes about that. I was so disoriented that I don’t even know how I managed to get back.”

“What a shame…”

“Michael, don’t be so anal about this,” Gabriel reprimands. “He’s been through enough.”

“No, it’s alright. I understand it’s for everyone’s peace of mind so I decided to bring this back as a token instead.” Aziraphale plucks out Crowley’s headdress, the dark fur now clumped with rust-colored muck.

The captain throws Michael an “are-you-satisfied-now” look and she hums in approval. “I’ll be sure to relay the news to the Queen when she returns.”

“Good,” Gabriel says proudly. “Now, you should get yourself to Madame Tracy so she can get you cleaned up.”

—

After Aziraphale swiftly knocks on the ornately carved wood, someone peers through the peep window.

“Zira!” Madame Tracy swings the door open and brings him in for a tight hug. “Oh, dearie, I heard what happened! I was worried sick about you!”

“I know, Tracy, but really I’m fine… Aside, from being an outright mess,” he chuckles, gesturing to himself once she lets him go.

“Not a problem. I’ll wash your uniform with a restoration potion and it’ll be good as new.”

While he cleans up in her lavatory, Madame Tracy places his dirtied clothes in a cauldron then uncorks a vial to pour the contents into the boiling water. When Aziraphale finally emerges wearing a velvet robe, his clothes are already hung and perfectly dry.

“Thank you, dear, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I do have a magic touch.” She pulls up a stool and sits him down. “Now, let’s see to those nasty scratches and blisters.” The healer grabs a small flask and gently dabs each wound with an antiseptic before placing a square bandage to keep them clean. As she finishes up, she comments, “My word, that must’ve been a real skirmish.”

“Um, yeah, that werewolf was a real scrapper.”

“Hmm, it’s funny though… As I was sorting through your clothes, your cloak was in tip-top shape aside from a few stains. Don’t know much about werewolves but I doubt they are particularly considerate about ruining people’s favorite articles of clothing.”

Aziraphale remains silent, knowing that the jig is up. Crowley had suggested that he add a few tears to the red fabric but the delivery boy had refused.

_“I’ll steal a new one for you if need be but we have to make this as believable as possible,” the werewolf griped._

_Aziraphale clutched onto his cloak defensively. “I don’t want a new one. I don’t care what you do to my uniform, just please don’t touch this.”_

_“Fine, whatever you say...”_

“So, are you going to tell me what really happened out there?” she asks primly.

He relents and relays the true events that transpired to Madame Tracy.

“I know if I’m discovered I’ll be punished severely but… I can’t leave him to die alone. I don’t believe he’s a monster. He’s just trying to survive in a world that is terrified of him.”

“Oh, Zira, you are too kind for this world,” she says, squeezing his hands. “Which is why I’m going to help you.” Madame Tracy gets up and grabs her mortar and pestle from a shelf. “Let's hurry up and get your friend his antidote.”

—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, as he enters the house. “It’s Aziraphale. I brought you the medicine and some food.” The delivery boy soon finds the shivering creature curled up in his makeshift den; the silver poisoning enveloping half his chest and creeping up his neck. He hastily kneels next to him, placing his palm to Crowley’s feverish forehead. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry for taking so long.”

Crowley slowly becomes aware of his presence, dreary eyelids peeling open. “Hey, Little Red… you actually came back,” he mutters.

“Of course I did… I made you a promise.”

A faint smile forms on his lip. “That’s...sweet,” is the only thing he manages to say in his delirium.

“I know you’re exhausted but I’m going to need you to sit up for me, okay?”

He nods his head sluggishly as he flops onto his back. Aziraphale tucks a hand behind his sweaty head to assist him and brings the open bottle to dry lips. The werewolf swigs the entire thing, followed by a “ _Blegh_ ” as the bitterness coats his mouth.

A few moments pass and Aziraphale notices the tremors progressively ebb away. Also, the crackled pattern on his skin begins to recede to its point of origin. “It’s working, Crowley. You’re going to be fine soon,” he assures calmly.

It takes a while for Crowley to fully come to his senses but once he does he is reclined against the wall, sipping a few spoonfuls of the lamb broth Aziraphale had brought. “So, I take it they bought our story?”

“Yes, they did so you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

That should make him feel better but oddly it doesn’t. Crowley tilts his head up, blankly staring at the rafters. “Which doesn’t mean I’m free, it only means I have to keep an even lower profile.”

Aziraphale notices his dejection and tentatively asks, “If you don’t mind me asking? How did Sandalphon and Uriel discover you in the first place? I hadn’t heard rumors of werewolves stalking Eden.”

“I wasn’t out eating school children if that’s what you’re wondering,” he answers snippily. Crowley quickly regrets it though when Aziraphale flinches a bit. He apologizes to him as he pushes back his damp curls with a sigh. “I tend to hunt livestock after a full moon and only from people rich enough to not miss a few chickens or sheep. I must’ve pissed off the wrong landlord ‘cause Tweedledum and Tweedledee were waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, dear boy.”

Crowley shrugs. “When you get treated like an animal for most of your life you get thick skin.”

A silence falls between them and Aziraphale tries to choose his words carefully. “Well…just because people treat you that way, it doesn’t mean you should allow yourself to reflect their sentiment.”

He crosses his arms huffily. “Easy for you to say. You get to live in a _castle_ and get to tuck yourself in a nice, warm bed with your silk nighties.”

They were actually cotton but Aziraphale wasn’t about to correct him on that.

“As for me, I can’t even go to the marketplace without running the risk of someone screaming at the sight of me.”

“You’re right that I live a privileged life but… I do understand that you can’t change other people's perspective of you,” he expresses sincerely. Ever since he was a child, there were always others that thought his soft-mannered nature made him weak but there were also people that reminded him that it is actually his greatest strength. “The only thing that matters is your own opinion of yourself,” he says, giving Crowley a reassuring smile which relaxes his stern posture. “Of course, there are ways to improve your self-esteem.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” he asks cynically

Aziraphale reaches out to pluck a dry leaf from his hair. “For starters, we can get you a bath.”

—

At the edge of the nearby lake, Aziraphale flattens out Crowley’s newly repaired clothes on a boulder. Upon further inspection, however, he concludes that they are still dreadfully frumpy.

Crowley doesn’t seem to mind as he examines them over Aziraphale's shoulder. “Not bad, Little Red. I haven’t seen them look this good since I swiped them from their clothing line.”

“Why, yes, it is a good start— Oh, good _Lord_ ,” he exclaims as he glances behind to see Crowley completely naked. Aziraphale shields his field of vision with his palm, his cheeks searing with embarrassment. “My dear, where’s your modesty?”

Crowley smiles at his demureness and bluntly reminds, “Werewolf, remember?”

“I-I understand that but still— Here!” He holds out a white towel, his face still turned away.

“Alright, alright,” he yields, holding the cloth to his groin. “Although, I’ll have you know I won’t need this to dry off.”

He cautiously lowers his hand now that he’s somewhat covered up. “What do you mean— ” Droplets fly toward his face as the werewolf shakes off the moisture clinging to his hair and body.

“See, much more effective,” he asserts as he finishes wrapping the towel around his hips.

Aziraphale pulls out a tartan handkerchief to peevishly dry off his face. “Right.”

Crowley scoops up his clothes. “I’ll be back. Wouldn’t want to corrupt your innocence any further,” he teases.

Once he is out of sight, Aziraphale puffs in exasperation. _He’s going to need all the help he can get_. _Well, only in some areas…_ His mind flashes to the image of Crowley’s muscles that exude the perfect amount of athleticism, water trailing down from his chest to where his sex laid nestled between his thighs.

The delivery boy admonishes himself for having such crude thoughts about his companion. Even if they aren’t exactly unwelcomed…

“So, am I civilized yet?” Crowley asks from behind.

Aziraphale shifts to face the werewolf, now properly dressed. “You look spick and span but it’s not about making you ‘civilized’. It’s about making you feel better, like getting those knots out of that mane of yours, for example.” He pats the space on the boulder and Crowley joins him. Aziraphale gets out a hairbrush and a small flask of hair tonic that Madame Tracy gave him. “Turn around please,” he instructs as he rubs the cinnamon-scented oil into his hands.

Crowley does as he’s told, allowing him to run his fingers through his tangled hair to saturate it. Once Aziraphale starts to brush out his locks, the werewolf grouses whenever he snags on a clump yet as they smoothen out he finds himself… relaxed. His eyelids droop slightly, tingles coursing from his scalp all the way down to his spine.

“How are you doing?” Aziraphale asks softly, as to not disturb the peace that had formed.

“M’ good,” he hums. “Y’ know... you didn’t have to take care of me after what I did last night.”

“It’s water under the bridge, dear fellow.”

“Still… thank you.” He glances over his shoulder with a coy smile.

“You’re welcome. Although, now that we’ve sorted you out, we have to seriously discuss your living situation.”

—

The next day, Aziraphale washes the porch with a soapy rag, each swipe magically erasing the grime and damage from the floorboards.

“Hey, Red, I appreciate your enthusiasm for spring cleaning but won’t coming here throw a wrench in your royal duties?” Crowley asks while he fixes one of the windows; his hair tied back in a half-bun.

“Well, after my terrible ordeal with a wily wolf, my superiors were generous enough to give me a couple of weeks off.”

“A well-deserved commendation for your valor,” he quips, both of them chuckling. From the corner of his eye, he observes Aziraphale in fascination as he continues to buff the deck. Crowley never figured someone as prim and proper would be willing to get down on all fours with his sleeves rolled up, sweat gathering on his brow, robust forearm’s flexing enticingly…

 _Oh_ , Crowley is going to look forward to these next weeks a little too much.

***

The werewolf lets out a whistle as he admires their hard work from their picnic blanket. “Wow, we actually managed to make this place look livable again.”

“Mhm,” he agrees through a mouthful of his apple. “It still needs a paint job and some caulking for the rain. Oh, and new furniture! We can’t forget that.”

Crowley grins at his excitement but hides it by gnawing at his already-bare chicken leg. “In that case, I think you’re going to need a bigger basket.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out a solution for that.” Aziraphale picks at his apple core, painstakingly removing the seeds and placing them on a napkin. “I was also thinking we could maybe get a garden started for you. You’ll have an entire orchard by autumn with these.”

A glint of eagerness sparkles in the werewolf’s eyes. “Actually, I know exactly where to put them.”

—

Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s hand to help him climb over the knoll of exposed tree roots. At the top, Aziraphale gazes out in awe at the clearing before them; lush green contrasted by bursts of colors.

“I know it’s not anything grand. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the palace garden but it’s mine…”

“Crowley, don’t be ridiculous… it’s beautiful,” he breathes, cradling Crowley’s hand between his own in reassurance.

His self-consciousness eases and he gently guides the delivery boy along. “Right this way then.”

As they walk around, Aziraphale admires the vibrant wildflowers and the little plots of dirt housing a variety of herbs and vegetables. He also realizes they aren’t alone during their stroll. Along with the typical birds and bugs roaming about, there are also a few mystical creatures luxuriating in this space that Crowley created. The delivery boy spots a brownie lounging on a toadstool with his acorn cap slipping over his sleepy eyes and a few wispy-haired pixies sipping nectar from the scattered bluebells. One of them, however, splits from the group to flitter around Aziraphale, its tiny face scrunching up as it curiously scrutinizes him. “Oh, hello there,” he greets cheerfully

The pixie lightly tugs the collar of his cloak then throws Crowley a knowing look that implicitly says, “So this is him!” The werewolf rolls his eyes but nods in confirmation. It claps its hands excitedly and pecks the tip of Azirphale’s nose before flying away to tell its friends.

He giggles, “This place is truly magical, my dear. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“It’s the least I could do…” he says with a fondness that makes Aziraphale’s stomach flutter. “So should we get to planting?”

***

“Look, Aziraphale, I’m a fan of blindfolds as much as the next person-like being but is this really necessary?”

Aziraphale finishes tying off the dark fabric and chuckles, “It’s for the sake of the surprise. Don’t be a grump.”

He grumbles but is secretly touched at the sentiment.

The delivery boy carefully leads him toward the freshly painted cabin, the walls a dove grey and roof a rich mahogany. However, the real show-stopper is the inside which Crowley had yet to see. They make it past the threshold of the door and he positions the werewolf to maximize his view. “Ready?” As soon as he nods, Aziraphale loosens the blindfold and slings it away with a “Ta-dah!”

The werewolf blinks in disbelief, wondering if this is the same building anymore. What used to be bare is now furnished with a gold-threaded rug, a sofa, and even a packed bookshelf. “Red…” he gapes, navigating the room. His fingers run over one of the gold, lion head armchairs that accompanies his new dining table. Although, his expression really lights up when he faces the corner of the house. “Holy shit, is that a bed?”

In a blur, Crowley is belly-flopping onto the king-sized mattress and rolling around in the satiny sheets like a puppy. “God, I can’t even remember the last time I slept on a real one.” He reclines on his side as if he were posing for a painting, fingernails stroking the bedding in circles. “Want to help me break it in?” he asks with a mischievous smirk. “Werewolves have _very_ impressive stamina.”

Aziraphale’s face becomes as red as his hood and he makes a sputtering noise. Crowley cackles maniacally at his reaction and the delivery boy scolds, “You teasing fiend!”

“Sorry, sorry, I had to.” He gets up to sit on the edge. “How did you manage all of this?”

“Well, the castle has a storage room with old furniture that gathers dust anyway so I snuck out a few pieces with the help of some shrinking powder. Except for the books, that is. Those are from my own collection but I have plenty to share.”

He beams at his friend with regard. “You’ll never cease to amaze me, Aziraphale...”

The delivery boy thanks his flattery as he glances down at his feet, wearing a bashful smile. “Well, I don’t know about you but I think it’s time for us to celebrate.”

—

Crowley pours champagne into their respective flutes while Aziraphale cuts slices of roasted venison.

With everything served, Aziraphale raises his glass. “I propose a toast… To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings.” He lifts his own and clinks them together.

Although as Crowley sips his drink, the delivery boy detects a bit of melancholy in his demeanor. “Is something the matter, dear boy?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s… it’s nothing. I was just thinking that this is... nice.” His claws nervously tap the tabletop. “Shame that after this we probably won’t be seeing much of each other. You’ve got to get back to your real job since there’s nothing for you to do here anymore.”

“Crowley... If you think I was coming around purely for renovations you are sorely mistaken,” he says sympathetically. “I’ll indeed be busier now but I’ll still visit you no matter what.”

The werewolf feels a lump in his throat and he tries to laugh it away. “I guess we’ll have to coordinate schedules then. I have things to do too, y’ know. A moon to serenade. Rabbits to chase.”

Aziraphale giggles, “Ah, yes, I completely understand.”

***

“Crowley, I have a proposition for you but you can refuse if it makes you uncomfortable.”

The redhead snaps the book he was reading closed and crosses his legs in intrigue. “Ohh, what kind of proposition ‘cause I might be on a different page than you,” he says suggestively.

Aziraphale sits next to him on the couch, undeterred. “I was thinking about what you said when we first met… About how you can’t even go into town.”

“Oh, that,” he sighs, placing the novel on the lamp table. “I’m glad you're concerned for my social life but, really, there’s no point in taking that risk.”

“But what if we take the proper precautions?” He takes out a rectangular gift box the size of his palm.

Crowley tilts his head at it but before he can ask what it is Aziraphale sprinkles a lavender powder over it causing the package to grow in an instant. The werewolf takes it from him and lays it across his lap before lifting the lid. Inside, there is a pair of gloves and tinted glasses resting on a dark-colored ensemble.

“Woah…”

“You don’t have to worry about the size. The outfit has a spell to make it fit perfectly but if you don’t like the style of anything in particular, I can exchange it.”

“No, no, this is... perfect.” _How did I manage to find the most thoughtful person in the kingdom?_

“To be transparent, I’m not insinuating you should be ashamed of your appearance… I just thought maybe you’d feel safer this way if you do decide to go out.”

“I know you got it with the best intentions, Red, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to take that step yet,” he admits.

“Alright, I understand. If you ever change your mind… I’ll be there for you.”

Crowley pats his shoulder with endearment. “I know you will…”

***

It had been a busy week for Aziraphale because of the trading fair, so he had given Crowley the heads up that he probably wasn’t going to make it anytime soon. Fortunately, he was able to leave early on the last day so he had decided there’d be no harm in surprising him with a visit.

When he gets to the cabin, he realizes that the lights are all off and he briefly wonders if he’s out hunting. However, he hears a noise coming from the back of the house. “Crowley?” Aziraphale goes to the cellar, an area that Crowley was uncomfortable talking about and was always locked but as he shines the lantern over it he notices the padlock is gone. “Crowley, are you down there?” he calls out, opening the doors; the sound of scuttling the only response.

The delivery boy descends the metal ladder and finds himself surrounded by concrete. Suddenly, a growl vibrates through the musty air. As he holds the lantern out in the direction of the source, gnashing teeth launch toward him, the fright knocking him backward.

Hot breaths puff out of a snarling muzzle, grazing Aziraphale’s face as golden eyes glare at him piercingly. “Crowley,” Aziraphale gulps.

The lamp strewn on the floor illuminates his friend fully transformed, auburn hackles raised and tail swishing angrily. Thick shackles digging into the flesh of his neck and wrists as he struggles against them.

“C-Crowley,” he says shakily. “It’s me… It’s Little Re—” He yelps as the werewolf barks and swipes at him hungrily trying to grab at him. Despite the chains keeping him at bay, Aziraphale clambers away until he’s outside and slamming the cellar closed. He slumps onto the ground, hyperventilating and his heart beating frantically against his chest. As his adrenaline gradually drops, he stares up at the sky and watches as the clouds drift away to reveal the full disk of the moon.

—

Sunlight beams through the small gap between the cellar doors, dawn breaking the enchantment on Crowley’s shackles. The werewolf groggily lifts his body up, rubbing the raw skin on his wrists. When he sweeps the stray hairs from his face, he notices a burned-out lantern… Aziraphale’s lantern. “Red…” he mutters in horror. “No, no, no!” He checks around himself to see if there was any blood on him that wasn’t his own but to his relief, it doesn’t seem so. Even if he didn’t hurt him, he must’ve still seen him. He must’ve seen him for the monster he really is... Crowley buries his head in his hands, a sob escaping him.

Eventually, he gets enough motivation to climb out of the hole he threw himself in, resigned to having lost his best friend. Yet, when he opens the entrance to the house, said best friend is peacefully sleeping on the couch. “Aziraphale?”

He stirs, eyes softly fluttering open but when he notices Crowley standing at the doorway he jolts up. “Crowley, you’re okay!” In a flash, Aziraphale is draping his blanket over the werewolf’s bare shoulders to shield from the crisp morning air.

“You’re here… Even after you saw… you stayed,” he murmurs dumbly.

Aziraphale looks up at him guiltily as if he had done something wrong. “And I’m so sorry about that. I know you probably didn’t want anyone seeing you in that state a-and I should’ve been mindful about the moon cycle instead of showing up unannounced,” he rambles. “I-it… it was just so awful finding you that way, Crowley!” The werewolf’s heart drops but Aziraphale adds, “I understand you have to take certain measures so you don’t hurt anyone else but,” his lip quivers as tears start forming in his eyes, “...it was unbearable to see the harm you had inflicted on yourself. I couldn’t just leave you!”

_That’s what was unbearable? Not the fact that I was probably trying to shred him to pieces but that I was hurting myself in the process…_

“Perhaps it was inappropriate for me to intrude on such a personal matter but—” He gasps as slender arms wrap around him.

Crowley nuzzles his cheek against platinum curls that smell like fresh pears, his eyes prickling with overwhelming joy. “Thank you,” he croaks. “Thank you for not giving up on me, Red...”

He lets out a staggered breath, clutching Crowley tightly. “Never, my dear.”

—

“I wasn’t born this way,” Crowley confesses while Aziraphale rubs healing ointment on one of his wrists. “A werewolf I mean, obviously.”

The delivery boy’s attention flicks up to Crowley’s somber face. “Oh… were you bitten?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Cursed.” Aziraphale continues to dress his wound as he lets the werewolf pace himself. He sighs, “I hung around the wrong people when I was younger... Messed with dark magic and made a bad deal that I couldn’t follow through with, then lo and behold I became a walking flea circus.”

“If it’s a curse, can’t it be broken?”

He huffs at the thought. “I doubt it and even if there was, the warlock who did it sure as Hell didn’t mail me the terms and conditions.” Crowley looks down at the bandages on his wrists. “Worst thing is… I have no one to blame but myself.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself… no one deserves what you’ve gone through.”

“Maybe not, and yet here we are…”

Aziraphale decides not to push the subject anymore and gets up from his kneeling position to treat the abrasion around his neck.

As he ties Crowley’s hair back, the werewolf says, “So, Little Red, I’ve told you my secret now tell me one of yours.”

He titters, “Trust me, dear, I am not interesting enough to have secrets.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind telling me what the deal is with your cape,” Crowley prompts.

Aziraphale’s hands still for a moment. “...It was a gift from my father when I was about fourteen I believe. He, um, passed away years ago so it’s the last reminder I have of him.”

“Oh… Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s a fond memory really. My father owned a small bakery so we had a humble life. Still, the moment he found out that I was going to work for the queen, he gathered up his savings to buy me this cloak… He told me it was to keep me safe and so I’d remember where I came from.”

“Sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was,” he concedes with a wistful smile. “He taught me to be the person that I am today...” Aziraphale clears his throat a bit. “Tilt your chin up for me.”

As Crowley does so, their eyes meet and he gently touches the hand that is blotting his collarbone. “I’d say he did an amazing job at that,” he praises.

Aziraphale’s eyesight lands on Crowley’s slightly parted lips and he finds himself leaning in closer. “Crowley…” However, before their lips can touch, the delivery boy turns his face away abruptly. “You should get some rest once I finish patching you up,” he murmurs.

The werewolf tries not to show his disappointment and simply says, “Yeah... you’re right.”

***

“So, how do I look, Red?” Crowley asks, donning his new outfit: a black tunic, matching slim-fitting trousers, a grey fur shawl, and leather lace-up boots.

“You look…” _Handsome. Breathtaking._ Ultimately, he settles for, “Very dapper, dear boy.”

“Thanks, although, I find this brooch a little ironic,” he says, gesturing to the gold arrow pinned below his standing collar.

“Maybe, but it’s also a way to remember how we first met.”

“What, a scar wasn’t enough?” he snorts.

Aziraphale huffs out a small laugh before nervously biting his lip. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

Crowley goes over to his nightstand, grabbing his shades and gloves. “It’s okay, Aziraphale… I’m ready.”

—

Aziraphale notices Crowley’s body tense as they reach a sign that reads “Tadfield”. The blonde comfortingly hooks their arms together and the werewolf fixates on where they link. “I promise I won’t leave your side but if you want to leave at any moment we can.

Crowley takes a deep breath and squeezes Aziraphale’s forearm in gratitude. With that, they follow the bricked road into town.

As they walk along the main street, Crowley looks around in awe at the charming cottages and shops, having forgotten how civilization looked during the day. In the distance, he can hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded plaza. However, before they even reach it, a yippy dog rushes toward Crowley and starts to paw at his leg much to his annoyance. The werewolf bares his teeth which are a lot less menacing during the day but it gets the dog to back off a bit.

“Was that necessary, dear?”

Crowley points at it accusingly as it continues to wag its tail excitedly. “What, he started it.”

“It means he likes you,” a boy chuckles. “Come, Dog.” He obeys and joins his owner and his friends. “Hi, Aziraphale.”

“Hello, Adam. Brian. Pepper. Wensleydale.” They all wave respectively and Aziraphale introduces, “Kids, this is Crowley. He’s new in town so I thought I’d show him around.”

The werewolf gives the children a curt salute and they each welcome him.

“You guys made it in time! Everything is already set up at the street festival,” Wensleydale says cheerfully.

“Yeah, we already stopped by the food vendors,” Brian retells, holding up his half-eaten turkey leg.

“Even Anathema has a booth up and she gave me this,” Pepper says proudly showing off a shrunken head made out of burlap and straw.

“Ooh, how lovely, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hello.” Aziraphale looks at Crowley to gauge his reaction. “If you want to, that is...”

He unfurls his fist repeatedly but he nods. “Let’s go.”

—

As the sun begins to set, the pair wander to the empty water fountain, most of the crowd having already trickled away for the evening. They sit down on the brim, laughing about nothing in particular, slightly buzzed off of joy and some good ale.

“This has been such a fun day, Crowley!”

“Yeah, I have to admit it wasn’t as bad as I thought... I’m glad I came with you, Red,” he says and the delivery boy hums in agreement.

The candles in the street lamps begin to spontaneously flicker on, the glow illuminating them warmly. They can still hear the band playing their music and that gives Aziraphale an idea. “The night is still young, my dear.” He offers him his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Ohhh, you really don’t want me as a dance partner. These feet are only useful for running through the forest.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve attended plenty of balls so I can show you. And, contrary to the saying, I do believe you can teach an old dog new tricks,” he says impishly.

The werewolf tosses his head back with an amused laugh. “Well, if you really think you are such a good teacher, sure, why not?”

Aziraphale wiggles happily before standing up and bowing to him as he extends an arm out again. Crowley blushingly smiles at the gesture and takes it. “I’ll lead so I’m going to put my hand on the base of your back while you put yours on my shoulder,” Aziraphale explains.

The werewolf’s breath hitches in response to how close they are and how securely Aziraphale is holding him. Step-by-step the delivery boy guides him through the motions and, unsurprisingly, Crowley manages to step on his feet a couple of times before finding his rhythm.

“Alright, now, we’ll try a simple spin and a dip.” Aziraphale's arm forms a bridge, tucking Crowley underneath it until his arms are folded together over his chest. As he tips him back, Crowley’s silly grin matches his own, neither able to wipe it away. When Aziraphale reverses him to their original position, they both laugh giddily, tapping their foreheads together.

However, Crowley’s smile falters and he draws back, avoiding Aziraphale’s confused expression. Their swaying stops and Aziraphale wonders, “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable is all,” he admits shyly.

“Why would you make me…” The recollection dawns on him and guilt rises in his chest. “Is this about the other day... when I was taking care of you after the full moon?”

“Look, it’s not a big deal. I get it. There’s no point in having something more than a friendship with someone like me. You… you’d never have a normal life if we did so no hard feelings…” _I shouldn’t’ve gotten my hopes up in the first place._ A hand tenderly cups Crowley’s cheek, encouraging him to face blue disconcerted eyes.

“Crowley, that’s simply not true. I— The reason I didn’t kiss you is that I didn’t think it was the appropriate time.” He swallows, “You were so vulnerable and to be honest so was I and I didn’t want to jeopardize our relationship for a rash decision b-but…I can assure you, my dear, it wasn’t for a lack of want.” Aziraphale grazes his thumb along his jaw. “It wasn’t because I thought you weren’t worthy of my affection… I’m afraid you’ve already won that,” he confesses.

Crowley clutches the hand pressed to his face. “Red, please… _Please_ show me this is real,” he begs pitifully. “Help me believe that what you’re saying is true—” He is cut off by soft lips that taste of hard cider and he surrenders to their soft caress; Aziraphale’s firm embrace keeping him from melting into the cobbles.

“Did that suffice?” Aziraphales asks through the faint gap between them.

“Yeah, er, that was certainly effective,” he says breathlessly, and the delivery boy giggles in delight, bringing him for another kiss.

Their languid pecks soon become more heated and Aziraphale is the one with enough awareness to pant, “Dear, this really is lovely but… might I suggest that we take this somewhere more private?”

The playful tug of Aziraphale’s teeth on his bottom lip makes Crowley’s prick stir and he whispers hoarsely, “Take me home, Little Red.”

—

“ _Haah_! Oh, _dear_ , you weren’t kidding about your stamin- _ah_ ,” Aziraphale keens as he feels himself on the precipice of another orgasm.

“To be fair, you— _shit! Nnh_ , you make it easier to keep going,” Crowley grunts, pushing into him, hands braced on each side of the blonde’s head.

As Aziraphale grapples onto Crowley’s back, he can feel the strain and shift of every muscle rippling under his fingertips. The animalistic nature of his movements so addictively powerful and unrelenting, he might not want him to ever stop. “W-well, _mmh_ , I suppose we’ll find out who’s more insatiable, won’t we,” he moans laughingly.

Sharp teeth gleam in the moonlight as his smirk widens. “Is that a challenge, Red?”

The werewolf’s hungry gaze sends a wave of arousal that makes Aziraphale shiver but his resolve doesn’t fold. “Hmm, and what if it is? What will the big scary wolf do about— Oh, _fuck_ ,” he squeaks as Crowley sharply rams into him; the bed creaking underneath them and the cherry headboard smacking the wall from the force. “ _Crowley_! Crowley, oh, darling, _yes_ , _yes, yes_ ,” he chants in ecstasy as he strokes himself in time with each bruising thrust against his ass.

“ _Ahh_ , Aziraphale,” he growls, spine arching back as he comes inside of him with a drawn-out “ _Awwoooooh_!”

Aziraphale spills over his own hand and plush belly with a cry, legs tightening around the werewolf’s to keep him impossibly deep as they finish together.

Their haggard breaths graze each other’s face before Crowley leans down to press his lips on Aziraphale’s shiny forehead. “So, have I bested you, Little Red?”

The delivery boy laughs helplessly, hugging him closer. “Fine, I’ll admit you won this round, my fiendish adversary. Although…” Suddenly, Crowley is being flipped onto his back and Aziraphale is smirking down at him. “I do believe we have a long night ahead of us.”

—

Soft rays of light flood in through the sheer curtains but Aziraphale and Crowley have no intention (or strength for that matter) to get out of bed; both of them too comfortable as they snuggle under the sheets.

“Hmm, would you say it was a tie?” Aziraphale asks sleepily, head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Honestly, I stopped keeping track so, yeah, let’s leave it at that, Red,” he says with a chuckle.

“Alright,” he agrees, kissing along Crowley’s collar bone. “One thing is for sure, I could use some breakfast right now.”

“Nooo, sleep first,” Crowley whines.

“Awe, but I’m awfully peckish.”

The werewolf mumbles indignantly at how cute his exaggerated pout is so he closes his eyes to stay strong. However, they shoot open when Aziraphale playfully scratches his flanks causing his leg to kick involuntarily. “H-hey, no fair,” he says through laughter.

“Pleaaase. We can eat in bed and then we can sleep as much as you’d like,” he proposes, not letting up on the tickles.

“Okay, okay, you win,” Crowley wheezes, and Aziraphale beams in triumph. As his breathing settles, he tenderly grabs the delivery boy’s chin. “Aziraphale, I…,” he starts but he reconsiders his next words. “I’m so grateful I met you.”

“Me too, my dear,” he says, giving him a sweet kiss.

***

“Michael, what can I help you with?”

“I apologize for disturbing your work, Captain, but I have a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

Gabriel sets his quill down on his desk. “No problem, what can I help you with?”

“It’s about Aziraphale. I’ve recently noticed some odd behavior from him.”

“Ah, that’s not really out of the ordinary for him, is it?”

“ _Odder_ I should say,” she clarifies. “I have talked to the guards and they’ve informed me that he’s been leaving and entering the castle at unusual hours.”

“Is it affecting his work?”

“No, I suppose not but I have noted that he’s been distracted lately and I even spotted him sneaking around the storage hall. I’m concerned he’s up to something so I thought you could get either Uriel or Sandalphon to keep tabs on him.”

Gabriel waves his hand dismissively. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for all of that. I don’t see the point of displacing my soldiers just so they can follow Aziraphale sneaking extra servings of pastries.” Micheal is about to appeal to him again but he stipulates, “If he’s doing something seriously wrong with his duties I’ll have a talk with him. Until then don’t worry about it.”

She holds her tongue and nods. “Yes, Captain.” _I’ll just have to use a backchannel then._

***

“I can’t wait to whip these wonderful vegetables into a delicious minestrone,” Aziraphale muses as they return from Crowley’s garden. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow night, unfortunately. I have to get back to my deliveries soon.”

“Ugh, fine I’ll let you go but,” he stops him at the porch stairs, “I am going to steal you for the weekend.”

“It’s a deal,” Aziraphale smiles, leaning in for a kiss. “Come on, I’ll help you put this away before I go.”

As they enter the house, the pair are blissfully unaware that hidden in the trees, a pair of orange eyes watch their every move.

—

“Don’t look so scared, Michael,” the mercenary chides as the advisor sits down at his table. “They can smell fear y’ know,” referring to the ruffians inside the tavern.

“Can never be too careful,” she says, adjusting her hood to cover her face. “So, what do you have for me, Ligur?”

“Ah-ah, gold first.”

She sighs and discreetly pulls a sachet, pushing it over to her informant.

As Ligur counts the coins inside, he hums, “Your boy _has_ been up to something. I followed him to a nice little house in the woods where he was meeting with a very interesting subject.”

“Who?”

“A werewolf and, by the looks of it, they’re a little more than friends,” he insinuates.

Michael scowls at this. “I knew he didn’t have the capability to kill that beast but the fact he continues to _fraternize_ with such a disgusting creature will not be tolerated.” She leans her elbows onto the table. “Now, tell me, where exactly is their love nest?”

—

The next afternoon, Aziraphale whistles happily as he makes his way to the castle gate, eager to go visit Crowley. However, as he approaches he is stopped by Uriel and Sandalphon blocking the way.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” Uriel greets.

“Oh, hello,” he says, unsettled by her overt cheeriness.

“Where are you heading off to today?” Sandalphon asks with a similar intonation.

“I, um, it’s my weekend off so I thought I’d go into town and pick up a few things.”

“Is that so? Ah, well, seeing as you're already heading there, mind getting us up a few things?” he requests.

“Uh, I suppose not...”

“Great,” Sandalphon grins. “How about... a leash?”

Aziraphale’s polite smile starts to waiver.

“And maybe a few dog biscuits,” Uriel adds with a smirk. “We thought they’d be nice gifts for your scruffy boyfriend.”

The delivery boy feels as if the floor has caved from under his feet. “I-I… I don’t know what you’re referring to—” When he instinctively steps back from them, another pair of soldiers grip each of his arms.

“Lock him up,” she orders.

“N-no, wait! I can explain,” he says frantically as they start to drag him away.

Once he’s thrown into the brig, Aziraphale continues to plead, “Please, let me talk to the queen. I can sort this whole thing out if you just—”

“The queen is away on business,” Michael interrupts, Gabriel at her side.”Which means the Captain is in charge until her return.”

Aziraphale clutches at the metal bars. “Gabriel, please let me explain. I know that I lied but I had it on good authority that the werewolf wasn’t a threat. I saw no reason to not have mercy on him.”

Gabriel exhales deeply before putting on a fake grin. “Aziraphale… shut your stupid face.” He quickly drops his act and his expression darkens. “Here I was giving you the benefit of the doubt but it turns out you’re as spineless as everyone thought you were. On top of that, you put everyone in the kingdom at risk by letting that monster run loose and for that, you will be charged with treason.” Aziraphale begins to protest, but the captain interjects, “As for your pet, I’m going to finish what you failed to do.”

Aziraphale’s heart shatters into fine dust, tears brimming his eyes. “You can’t,” he mutters. “You can’t do that! He hasn’t done anything to deserve that! He’s never hurt anyone!”

“And after tonight he’ll never get the chance to.” Gabriel turns on his heels and Michael follows, leaving Aziraphale alone.

His legs finally give out as he crumples onto the cold ground, bawling inconsolably.

—

Through the barred window of his cell, Aziraphale can hear the storm outside pelting the stone walls, a low rumble in the distance. Along with the rest of their misfortunes, he recalls that Crowley loves the rain but is terrified of thunder and he’s not there to comfort him like the last time. He curls tighter into himself, hoping for some miracle to keep Crowley out of harm's way.

His prayers are answered when he hears someone down the hall gruffly say, “Shift change, lad.”

“Captain Gabriel didn’t say anything about—”

“Are ye questionin’ your superior?”

“N-no, Sergeant. Course not.”

“Right, then get.”

Aziraphale hears the guard’s footsteps recede then shortly after Sergeant Shadwell appears in front of him, rattling the keys.

He unlocks the door for him and Aziraphale scrambles up. “Sergeant Shadwell, why are you…?” Over his shoulder, he can see Madame Tracy sneaking in from behind with a distressed look on her face. The delivery boy runs over to her and hugs her tightly thanking her profusely. “They’re going to kill him, Tracy,” he sobs into her shoulder.

“I know, dearie, I know,” she shushes. “Newt is in the stables waiting for you so you have to go now.”

—

As Crowley closes the blinds, he cringes at the flash of light pouring through, anticipating the inevitable roar that follows. Aside from the downpour, the werewolf is also nervous about Aziraphale traveling through it for his sake so he goes to put on the kettle to have something warm ready for him when he arrives. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and Crowley lights up immediately. “Be right there, Little Red!”

When he goes to the door, his grin sours when he realizes it’s not Aziraphale who’s standing there.

“My, my, my. Grandmother, what big teeth you have,” Gabriel mocks.

—

Heavy raindrops sting Aziraphale’s face as he rides through the forest, reigns snapping as loud as the thunder when he sees the silhouette of the cabin drawing nearer. When he dismounts Newt’s horse, Turpin, he finds that the door is ajar to a dark, empty house; the kettle whistling shrilly in the background. However, the lightning strikes reveal that the home they built is in complete disarray with the furniture turned over and lamps shattered on the floor.

“Crowley,” he cries. “Crowley, please be okay.” To his horror, an ear-splitting yelp rings through the drumming of the rain and without a second thought he goes charging in its direction

—

Gabriel strikes another blow to Crowley’s rib with his knee and the werewolf collapses into the mud, heaving raggedly. “Not that I’m not having fun but will you two hurry up?”

“Yes, Sir,” his underlings say in tandem as they drag Crowley by the shackles to the nearest tree. Sandalphon holds the chain in place while Uriel hammers a thick nail through one of the loops and into the bark; the werewolf too weak to fight back anymore.

Crowley spits the metallic taste from his mouth before he groans, “Y’ know, three to one is hardly a fair fight.”

“It is for hunting,” Gabriel jeers. “Although, I have to hand it to you, you really had Aziraphale fooled. The little halfwit actually thought he could domesticate you.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” he snaps.

“Awe, it’s cute that you’re sticking up for your master but he’s not here to protect you.” The captain takes his sword out from his scabbard, wielding it in his direction. “And unlike him, I _will_ plunge my blade into your ‘wretched heart’.”

Crowley turns his face, not wanting to give Gabriel the satisfaction of seeing him scared. Instead, he closes his eyes and he thinks of happy memories. Of laying in the grass with Aziraphale as they hold each other’s hands and point out the constellations. Of resting his head on Aziraphale’s lap as he read to him while he scratched his scalp... “Do your worst,” he says, resolute.

“With pleasure.”

As Gabriel lunges his weapon forward, a resounding “ _No!_ ” cuts through the air leaving everyone stunned silent. That is until the werewolf hears Uriel gasp and he dares open an eye to see her covering her mouth in horror.

“Crowley…” says a faint voice.

His attention then turns to Aziraphale, wide-eyed with shock… Gabriel’s blade poking through the fabric of his cloak; red droplets dripping down the tip to dilute into the puddles below.

The captain withdraws it promptly, his face pale with mortification, and Aziraphale falls onto his knees, clutching a shaking hand to his abdomen.

“No… No, Aziraphale, no,” he screams in agony, the silver handcuffs burning his skin as he tugs at them. With the last burst of energy he has, Crowley dislodges himself from the tree and crawls to his aid. “Red, look at me. I’m here. I’m here,” he reassures.

“What have you done?” Uriel mutters to Gabriel.

“I-I didn’t... He shouldn’t have—”

Crowley grabs Gabriel by the front of his shirt, gritted incisors ready to bite into his jugular and, sinisterly, he revels in his terrified expression. Yet, a gentle hand on his arm halts him from going further.

Aziraphale gazes up at him with glassy, pleading eyes. “Crowley… don’t. You’re… you’re not the monster here…” he breathes.

His vision blurs as rage continues to boil inside like a geyser but before he does something he regrets, Crowley shoves Gabriel away with a growl of frustration; the captain falling into the wet dirt with a _splat_.

Gabriel gapes at him, not believing he’s being spared.

As Sandalphon and Uriel go to help their captain up, Crowley hisses, “All of you. Get. Out.” The werewolf glares at their every move as they retreat. With them gone, Crowley cradles Aziraphale as best he can with his bound hands. “It’s alright, Red. You’re going to be alright, I’m going to get you help. Y-you just gotta hold on a little longer, okay?”

Teardrops leak out of the corner of Aziraphale’s fading eyes. “I’m afraid… I don’t have much time left, dear.”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that,” he coos, shaking him slightly to keep him focused. “Stay with me, Red. Stay…” He snivels miserably into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck as the painful truth sinks in. “I’m sorry, m’ so sorry! This is all my fault!”

“Crowley… look at me, darling,” he requests feebly and sorrowful eyes meet his. “I want you to know that you having nothing to apologize for... because f-falling in love with you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The werewolf whimpers, tears blending with the continuous rainfall. “Aziraphale... there’s something I want you to know too,” he sniffs. “I lied about where I got my headdress. I didn’t skin an alpha to assert my dominance, I just bought it from some shady guy in an alley.”

Aziraphale chuckles with a cough. “No offense, dear... b-but I had figured that wasn’t true... You’re much too nice for that.”

He huffs out a pitiful laugh before composing himself enough to say, “And I wanted to tell you that... I love you too, Red.”

The delivery boy smiles weakly, lifting a hand to push away drenched tresses from Crowley’s face. “I had figured that part out too...” As he stares up at the werewolf, he gasps but not from pain. “Crowley... your eyes.” Aziraphale watches in amazement as fluorescent yellow transforms to a honey-brown. 

Crowley blinks in confusion but then when he glances down at his hands, he notices his claws receding and black finger pads turning back to their original flesh tone; even the burns on his wrist fade away. “Y... you broke my curse.”

He strokes his cheekbone with his knuckles. “Then... then it was all worth it...dear...” Aziraphale’s eyes flicker close, hand falling limply to his side as he lets out a final exhalation.

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale, wake up,” he pleads desperately, caressing his face but it’s no use... He’s gone.

Crowley yells into the air, grief echoing through the dark forest. With a raw throat, his head slumps down as he rubs their foreheads together. “Don’t leave me alone, Red,” he hiccups. “You promised you’d never give up on me...”

In the periphery of his stinging eyes, there is a soft, ethereal glow coming from the fissure where Aziraphale was stabbed. Crowley glances down to discover the fabric stitching itself together as gold embroidered vines spread outward until it is restored to its former glory. He dares to lift the hem of it to find a tear in Aziraphale’s bloodied tunic but there’s only pristine skin underneath; not even a scar to be seen.

Crowley gingerly runs his finger over the healed area and the body he’s holding squirms at the touch.

“Tickles,” a sleepy voice says.

The former werewolf eyes shoot up to find Aziraphale _yawning_ as if he had just gotten up from a nap. “Red,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Hello, dear,” he greets with a smile.

Crowley beams, more tears springing from his eyes as he scatters kisses all over Aziraphale’s face.

The delivery boy titters at the display of adoration. “Hmm, this really must be Heaven.”

“It’s better than that, Red. This is real… You came back to me.”

Aziraphale processes the information and he gasps with joy, wrapping him in a hug. “Oh, Crowley, it really is you,” he giggles tearfully. “But... _how_?”

Crowley’s palm delicately smooths down the red fabric of his cloak. “I think your dad meant it literally when he said you’d be safe with this.”

He looks down at his newly decorated cloak in wonder. “It really was the best gift I ever received... Aside from you, I mean.”

The redhead feigns annoyance but he can’t prevent the smile on his face from growing. Crowley lovingly slots their lips together, the storm finally beginning to cease as they hold each other in their arms.

*~*~*

Aziraphale enters the greenhouse and the pixies helping pollinate the flowers wave their yellow, dusted hands at him. “Afternoon, everyone! I see you’re all keeping busy.” He puts his basket down to adjust one of the potted sunflowers so the sunlight hits it at a better angle. “My, you’re looking as gorgeous as ever, little one,” he compliments.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t encourage that one. He should have grown at least two centimeters by now,” Crowley scolds, causing the petals to tremble.

“Really, dear, must you be so harsh on them?”

“Hey, if I go easy on one, then they’ll all start slacking and we’ll be out of business,” he reminds, which is admittedly a bit dramatic but he doesn’t want his plants to get any funny ideas.

The delivery boy rolls his eyes in amusement. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Crowley takes off his gardening gloves, tucking them into his taupe apron so he can hold Aziraphale by the hips and kiss his temple. “How did everything go today?”

“Splendid! Mrs. Dowling particularly liked the addition of scabious to the bouquet. Oh, I also went by Anathema and Newt’s place to sort out the arrangements for their wedding and we are all set for next month.”

“Finally,” he groans. “Please tell me you won’t be as finicky as them when we start our preparations.”

“No promises,” Aziraphale says puckishly, adjusting Crowley’s braid over his shoulder. “So, shall we get going, my love.”

He intertwines their hands together with a smile. “Yeah, Red. Let’s go home.”

**_The End_**

**Author's Note:**

> Me: How many Disney tropes should I add?  
> My Brain: Yes.
> 
> Also Bonus: Afterwards Aziraphale went back to the castle to turn in his official resignation and to tell his friends he was okay, scaring the ever-living-shit out of Gabriel as a plus 😈


End file.
